Cute
by Zetor
Summary: A college aged Stacy's thoughts on the concept of cute.


Hey Quinn,

How are you? It's been a while. I guess school is keeping us both busy, otherwise why wouldn't we be talking, right? Anyway, I'm taking a really fun essay writing class this semester (can you believe I'm calling an English class fun?). The professor has us writing personal essays and it's really helping me figure out a lot of things about myself. I wrote this essay about cuteness and you came to mind. (I mean, you've always been like the definition of cute, right?) There's something in here I really want you to know, but it might kind of freak you out. It's not true anymore, well it is, but not the part that will freak you out. I hope. Just read it, okay? You don't have to write back or anything, but I could really use someone to talk about everything this paper helped me figure out (not just that one thing) and I still consider you my best friend.

Sincerely,  
Stacy Rowe

PS: You'll probably guess this, but I had to change the names for class. You should be able to figure it out though.

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Attachment:

Cute

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Cute. For such a tiny word, it can have a huge impact. I went to the mall the other day and saw cute everywhere. Cute babies, cute clothes, cute stuffed animals; the bookstore had to have had at least ten magazines telling me twenty-five different ways to make myself cute. Because I'm not cute; you can never really _be_ cute, not like that. Your clothes are a week behind, or your smudge-proof makeup smudges, or your hair decides it's not going to listen to you, or _something_. It's impossible to live up to that image; it's not real. I only wish it hadn't taken me seventeen years to figure that out.

Most of my life has revolved around one form of cute or another. As a baby, I was cute. I mean most babies are, but that's the point. Babies are cute without effort. They don't need makeup or fancy clothes; they just need to smile and burble and stare up at you. That doesn't last long though, at least it didn't for me.

I was a pageant kid. My first memory is being applauded as I toddled across a stage in a sparkly blue dress. You know those trashy reality shows about kids in pageants? They water it down. I worked the circuit up and down the East Coast, riding in the car for hours to stand up on stage in front of the judges. I ate, slept, and breathed cute. When I wasn't competing, I was practicing something; dancing, singing, _walking_ , everything had to be perfect. Until I started school, it was all I knew, and even after that it ate up all my free time. Mom wasn't terrible, not really, but let's just say being cute was important and she wasn't always happy when I lost. I learned to be cute and do what I was told. I just wanted to keep everyone happy.

My parents split up when I was ten. That was the end of my pageant days. Mom chose to take custody of my younger sister and pushed me on Dad. She never said it, but I knew it was because she didn't think I was cute anymore; puberty had hit and I was a lanky mess. My sister, meanwhile, was in her prime, winning one pageant after another. Easy choice, right? Dad wasn't so bad, but he was just there. I don't think he knew what to do with me, so he didn't do much of anything. My world was falling apart and I thought it was because I wasn't cute anymore.

The only thing I knew was suddenly gone and I felt like it was my fault, all in all a great way to start middle school. I was lost. I suddenly had free time when I never had before. Of course, I filled it with the only thing I'd ever known, the pursuit of cute. I discovered fashion magazines and shopping; that's where I found her, or should I say she found me. Candi was my first real friend. She was a lot like my mom, which at the time was comforting. She told me what to wear, what to do, and let me know when I'd messed up. I didn't have to think, just do what she said. I spent most of middle school trying to make her happy and somehow win back my mother's love.

In high school, Candi started a fashion club, a school sanctioned way to judge people on how cute they were. In the second semester of our freshman year, a new girl moved to town, joined the club, and changed everything. Lynn was perfect; flowing red hair, just the right smattering of freckles, and clothes straight out of the next week's fashion magazines. She _was_ cute. What I didn't realize then was that, for me, she was more than one kind of cute. She was a perfect example of cute style, sure, but she also made my heart skip a beat. She wasn't just cute in the "I want to be her" way, she was cute in the "I want her" way.

Lynn and Candi never really got along; Candi always thought Lynn was out to get her, and Lynn lived to be the center of attention. They were always trying to one up each other; clothes, hair, boys, you name it. After two and a half years, it all came to a head. Lynn started caring less about being cute and more about her responsibilities, and I followed her example. Candi thought we were crazy for not completely devoting our lives to being cute. A small incident at my birthday party escalated and we all had a big fight. We tried to patch things up, but it didn't take. Candi just couldn't get it. Lynn and I still cared about being cute, but we refused to let our lives revolve around it anymore. For the first time in my life I had a higher priority.

Cute isn't just looking good. It's an attitude, a way of life. It's not just that either though. Cute is a concept, and concepts have power. People devote their lives to concepts, they worship them. For most of my life I worshiped cute. I strove for an impossible image that was sold to me by the fashion industry and pushed on me by society.

Cute's not all bad though. It's certainly not bad to want to look good as long as you don't go overboard, and that's just one part of cute. I know I wouldn't want to miss out on the feeling I get when I meet a girl I think is cute. Puppies, babies, those little tiny muffins; they're all cute and completely harmless, well unless you eat too many of the muffins. You can even say cute sarcastically, although that's kind of mean.

So, concepts can be dangerous, but they can be broad and comforting too. As long as we don't let ourselves to be consumed by them, they can be a source of strength and confidence. I may not be the fashion industry's idea of cute, but I still put effort into my appearance and am happy with the way I look. I'm my idea of cute, well most days, and hopefully one day someone else's idea of cute too.

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 **Hello,**

 **So, been awhile. School and all that. That's actually where this comes from; I took an essay writing class and enjoyed it, so I figured I would try to work it into my fanfic. I'm not sure if this is okay with the site, but I guess they'll take it down if they have a problem with it. I think it came out okay, but as always, I crave the opinions of others. That said, read or review; it's all good. Just enjoy.**


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